The Dating Game
by RedVelvetWings
Summary: Meet Sherlock Holmes. The world's greatest match-maker. His match-making record is spotless. But there is one match he never predicted.
1. When Sherlock Met John

When Sherlock met John golden light was filtering through the curtains of 221B Baker Street. It was a beautiful day, but rather than enjoying it, small, round-faced Mike Stamford was currently pacing through is flat.

Well, technically it wasn't his flat yet. He still needed to find himself a flatmate to afford it and Mike wasn't really helping. All he had done was bring in a new client for him. The man with the sand blond hair was sitting opposite him, silent ever since Mike had started his babbling.

Sherlock wasn't listening and didn't care about the things Stamford was arguing so he rolled his eyes at the man in vain and focused his attention on the man opposite him, who was fondling his phone.

_He was clearly a military man. The way he held himself, the short hair cut. The limp is clearly psychosomatic and there is a tremor in his hand. He had been back from his military service for a few months as the still existing tan line leads to presume. This again leads to the assumption that he had been deployed abroad which only leaves the options Afghanistan or Iraq._

_The calloused skin on his left index finger indicates-because of the affected area-holding a scalpel, doctor then. Further evidence gives the fact that he knows Mike, so both probably trained at Bart's. _

_The engraving on his phone says `Harry Watson From Clara xxx´, family problems then as he is looking for a flat share. _

There also were clear signs that he hadn't yet adjusted to civilian life. Still he wanted a normal life a loving woman and children of his own.

To find a match for John Watson would probably take Sherlock a week at most. It would only take one try, he always just needed one try and John Watson would head off into his normal life.

"Shut up, Mike", Sherlock growled and the chubby man did a little jump. Silence fell and Sherlock rose from his chair.

"So, John you are looking for a match then. It will only take-", Sherlock began, but John cut him off.

"No, actually Mike mentioned that you were looking for a flatmate." A tiny flicker of a smile played around the man's lips and Sherlock was stunned. He had not taken into account that the man would want to be his flatmate. It had not been the most likely thing after all.

His facial expression had slipped into showing utter surprise, Sherlock was sure, but he composed himself after is misstep, waving it off as if nothing had happened.

"Flatmate, then.", Sherlock stated and forced one of his more sociable smiles onto his face. John was still showing a mixture of discomfort, but also curiosity in his body language.

This let the corner of Sherlock's mouth turn upwards in a smug, half-grin. Maybe this Watson fellow wasn't as bad has he thought.

"Afghanistan or Iraq?", he asked and John looked totally perplexed. Surprise and amazement flickered over his face. His mouth tried to form words, but he didn't get out a single sound.

This again made Sherlock sigh internally. It didn't really speak for his intelligence and Sherlock would have liked to snap at the man for his stupidity hadn't John interrupted his thoughts.

"How do you know about Afghanistan?", John asks, but Sherlock just waves his hand in a dismissive manner and focuses his attention back on more important topics.

"How do you feel about the violin? I play the violin when I'm thinking and sometimes I don't talk for days? Would that bother you? ", Sherlock asks, his eyes focused on Mike who is dancing from one foot to the other.

_Clearly nervous about something. By the tent in his jacket pocket he is going to propose to Dolores this evening. Another affirmative is the sweat on his hands. He is happy then and does care about her; otherwise he wouldn't be this nervous._

Another smug smile appeared on Sherlock's face upon seeing that he has been right again.

Match-making record spotless. Not that he had needed to care much. He knew he was right. He was always right, but people tended to doubt him and his mind frequently.

His phone chimed and he went to retrieve it from his pocket. It announced a new text from Molly. Probably another break up then, but she just wouldn't let him help her.

"Sorry, gotta dash. Molly needs me.", he announced and went to put on his coat. He had his hand on the doorknob when John once again raised his voice.

"We don't know a thing about each other. I don't even know your name and suddenly we are flatmates.", John said still sitting in the red armchair.

"I know you're an Army doctor and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you've got a brother who's worried about you but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him – possibly because he's an alcoholic; more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic – quite correctly, I'm afraid.", he looked at John's outstretched leg and raised his eyebrow.

"The name is Sherlock Holmes. Welcome to Baker Street Doctor Watson."


	2. A Day At Baker Street

Sherlock didn't return to Baker Street that evening. John didn't know what to think about the man's behaviour, but as Sherlock had rushed out of the flat Mike and John had exchanged a glance which had said it all.

Mike reassured him that Sherlock was like this most of the time, grumpy, snippy, always on the rush and a genius. After John's perplexed question whether Mike had uttered a word about him to Sherlock, he was just shaking his head in amusement.

What the bloody hell had he gotten himself into? John had asked himself that many times only a few hours later when he was packing up his things in the old flat.

If Sherlock was always snapping at people and making weird comments, it would probably be hell to live with him. This whole plan of his, to move, would probably be more work than he would like it to be. It would most probably be everything he never wanted, but still, there was something very appealing about the perspective of living with Sherlock. John didn't know what it was, but there was a part of him, telling him, urging him to go and leave. To take the chance which was offered to him and escape from being stuck in this miserable place alone.

So John packed his boxes, called Mike after he was done at Bart's and together they moved everything John possessed to Baker Street.

Upon Mike's and John's arrival back at Baker Street John noticed Sherlock hadn't given him a key. _The bugger._ John clenched his hands into fists and went to knock on the door. A woman opened the door only seconds later.

"Oh hello, you are living with Sherlock then.", she smiled genuinely and held the door wide open for him and Mike.

They carried the boxes put into the flat before Mike had to leave.`Important business´, he had mumbled before he had quickly left.

Mrs. Hudson- John had asked her for her name-was standing next to him. She was still smiling at him, but John's eyes wandered over the cluttered flat. Sherlock had really made a mess of the place. It could have been really nice, weren't there books and papers and some other things John didn't dare to look all too closely at, strewn all over the flat.

"There's another bedroom upstairs if you'll be needing two bedrooms.", she said all nonchalant, still standing next to him.

John couldn't help but pull a face, raising his eyebrows, he decided not to grace that statement with an answer now. _What have I gotten myself into?_ He didn't know. He really had no idea for what he had signed up, he just hope it would be better than what he so far had experienced since he came back from Afghanistan.

Composing himself, he turned towards Mrs. Hudson, his expression neutral again. "Of course we'll be needing two." He frowned, shaking his head. This was definitely a s_uperb_ start.

Mrs. Hudson went into the kitchen, mumbling something about no need to worry and all sorts of people around, but John didn't really listen.

He simply took a pillow which had been laying on one of Sherlock's unpacked boxes and threw it onto the chair which he had occupied before.

Then he went to unpack his things, stacking what was his where he found the pace as Sherlock's belongings were taking up most of the space within it.

Eventually Mrs. Hudson had retrieved to her own flat downstairs, but as dusk set over London and the sky was painted in red and orange, she knocked again, carrying a tray with a pot of tea and two cups.

"I thought a break would come in handy." She was smiling at his as she sat the tray down on the side table next to the red armchair.

"That's a great idea.", John said as he looked up from where he was shoving around some of Sherlock's books.

He settled into the red armchair opposite of her taking the cuppa which was left of the tray. "Thank you", he said as he sipped his tea. "Sherlock hasn't dropped by has he? I'm just wondering because I haven't seen him since this morning."

"No, he hasn't though it isn't unusual for him to get home late. He sometimes stays away for days, but I don't think he will today. It's not one of his cases so he probably will be back tonight, when you are lucky." She smiled at him in sympathy as she continued sipping her tea. John came to the conclusion that he really liked the older woman. She obviously was open minded and seemed to have an open heart as well, caring for everyone she met.

"You seem to know Sherlock for quite some time." She nodded. "Yes, he kind of saved me from my husband's bad influence." She smiled, setting her cup on the side table. "He saw coming what I and frankly everyone else, was unable to see. He saved me and secured my husband's stay at the prison."

"But he isn't a detective, he is- well, what exactly is he?", John asked, bewildered, hoping that she could give him the answer, because he really didn't know except that he himself call it a match-maker.

"He is just Sherlock; you'll get to know what I mean. You can't define him. He doesn't fit charts, he doesn't let himself be defined that easily." A short laugh escaped her. She looked as if she was remembering a long ago memory. "No you can't, not in a hundred years there will be a person who can define Sherlock. He won't let anyone do that." She smiled absently and started sipping her tea again.

They chatted until the sun had vanished behind the tall skyscrapers and had coloured the sky in dark shades of blue and black. Mrs. Hudson left then, taking the tray and called a "Good night, dear" as the door fell shut.

Tiredness settled over John and he took his cane and hoisted himself out of the chair. He made his way up the story fly of stairs and changed for bed.

He sat there several minutes, just staring into the darkness, seeing nothing but black and grey and wondered where Sherlock was. He wondered if living here would be any different when his flatmate tended to stay out long most of the time.

In the end John lay there under the covers for a few more hours staring at the ceiling, not finding an answer. What was he doing here? He was just some bloke Sherlock needed because the bills needed to be paid. He was exchangeable. He was a no one.

He had just drifted off into a light sleep when he heard a step creak under the weight of a body. _So Sherlock had returned home._ But as the thought occurred to him sleep overtook him once more and the thought was lost and forgotten, without the trace of a memory in the morning.

When he got up in the morning there was no sign that Sherlock had indeed come back yesterday. But as John had just started making tea, Sherlock exited his bedroom. He was dressed in a white shirt and slacks and it was bloody nine o'clock in the morning.

"Good morning. Tea?" John asked without much preamble. Sherlock nodded in response as he walked past him. _Good morning to you, too._

John took two cups out of the cupboard, retrieved two tea bags and waited. He heard Sherlock shuffling through papers and books in the sitting room.

"John!", Sherlock called out, anger vibrating in his voice._ Not good. What have you done, John?_ He took the two cups of tea with him into the sitting room and set them on the side table.

Sherlock stood in front of the bookshelf, his hand on the backs of the books. "What have you done? This was all in order. Now it isn't anymore, because you had to shove your ridiculous crime novels in between. And what is this?" He pulled out a book with a colour cover. It was his favourite book as a young boy and John couldn't bring himself to throw it away. "That was my favourite book when I was little, Sherlock."

Sherlock's face was stony. "That's rubbish." He exclaimed, throwing his hands over his head, storming over to the sofa, before slumping down onto it.

The expression on his face was the one of a sulking child and John had wanted to laugh hadn't Sherlock and he just had their first row.

He took both of their tea cups to the coffee table. He sat down next to Sherlock, whose elbows were resting on his knees and his fingers were stapled under his chin.

"You are right, I shouldn't have disturbed your system. I'm sorry. Here have some tea. Do you want something to eat too?" John looked over at Sherlock, but he kept staring straight ahead, ignoring John. _Great. _

"I'm sorry Sherlock, really." Still nothing. John couldn't help but sigh. This was starting of just fantastic. His flatmate was sulking like a five year old, because of him putting his books onto the shelves and now Sherlock refused to talk to him.

"Okay, then refuse to talk to me. I don't care."He got up, taking his tea cup and settling back into the red armchair by the fireplace, leaving Sherlock to sulk. Getting his book, he turned to the page he had stopped reading and got himself comfortable in the chair.

The sun rose over London and John made another round of tea. Sherlock had within the last hours shifted to a lying position on the sofa. His fingers were still stapled under his chin, his cup of tea was still untouched. The silence hadn't been broken ever since Sherlock had decided to start his sulk.

John, not knowing anything better to do, kept on ignoring him as well. As he went over his tasks, John couldn't help but glace Sherlock's way.

The slender man was stretched out completely over the entirety of the sofa. His long, lean feet were barefoot. His long legs stretched on forever until eventually they ended in his torso. His arms were just as lean as the rest of him and ended in long-fingered, elegant hands. Sherlock could have been any other sparsely man hadn't there been his face. John had to admit that the first thought on his mind upon seeing Sherlock's face had been_ alien_. The high cheekbones, the blue-grey eyes, the mop of dark brown curls. But now, after being able to study his figure a bit further, John had to come to the conclusion that Sherlock was quite good looking. He probably had a fairly long line of women at his disposal all waiting for their turn with him.

John smiled and averted his eyes. _No, there aren't any women. Sherlock can barely stand my company. He wouldn't be able to bare a woman babbling about this or that. But then again, why is he even matchmaking if he keeps people at arm's-length? _He shook his head. What did it matter, Sherlock wouldn't tell him anyway.

He returned to the sitting room with his new cup of tea and continued his reading. The sun began to set over London. The sky was dipped in red and orange, letting golden light shine through the windows of 221B Baker Street.

John rose from his chair anew, making himself a sandwich and a third cup of tea and returning to the armchair. He had just taken a bit from his sandwich when Sherlock broke the silence.

"John, I once had this woman as a client. She was tall, blond, intelligent. People might say she was stunning or beautiful, well anyway, she-", Sherlock merged into a very detailed description of a woman in her late thirties who had experienced trouble finding a partner due to her constant lack of time to go out and date properly. He described the way she had held herself, the way she had talked, the thing she had done while Sherlock had seen her, the things she had told Sherlock she wanted in a man. After Sherlock had finished his monolog, John felt like he knew the woman and it was frightening.

"So, what do you think? Is there a match for her or is there no hope." Sherlock asked, turning his head sideways, his eyes focused on John. There was a mischievous glitter in them and John had to swallow. _What do you want to prove Sherlock? _

"Why are you asking me? I believe you have her figured out already and she is probably heading off into her well deserved sunset." John retorted, a questioning look on his face.

"I'm bored. Entertain me. Use your brain for once and tell me what you think." Sherlock snapped rolling his eyes. "Why? So you can laugh at me afterwards. Hell no!" John snapped back, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

"Boring John. Predictable." Sherlock snorted, fixing his eyes upon the ceiling once again. He stapled his fingers under his chin once more, and silence fell over the room.

" Fine", John sighed and sat up straight, not really knowing why he was doing this to himself.

"She is a business woman, so as you said she doesn't have a lot of time at hand, therefore the match needs to accept that fact. Maybe it would be good when said match would also be fairly engaged in some kind of work. He has to be strong-willed just like her, because a strong woman likes an equally strong man by her side. You ask why? Well, you said she sat straight her chin held high, though not too much. A self-conscious woman would sit hunched, shoulders hanging low as well as her head, eye averted to the ground. Therefore, she has to be self-confident. The way she dresses according to you underlines that. She is also _very_ sexually engaged. Women who dress like you described are always in search for a good shag and as she doesn't have time for more, that's all she does, which add that he definitely has to be loving and understanding for her problems because that's most likely what she wants. And we have to add good shag to the list. I know, all women say it is important in a relationship, but when you love someone sex isn't all there is in a relationship, but she wants sex lots of it. I really have no idea what you could predict from her language usage, sorry." John took a deep breath after his little speech. Sherlock had turned his head sideways again, his eyes still having that mischievous glint to them. He was clapping, slowly, sarcastically.


	3. Amazing, brilliant!

John was still looking at the door in bewilderment, when the damn thing opened again. In strode Sherlock, just slipping a black leather glove over his hand. He stood there on the threshold to the flat and looked at John.

"As you seem to have nothing better to do, I was wondering whether you would consider joining me. Lestrade and especially his_ colleagues_ are all rather dumb and I don't work with them. Wanna come along?" Sherlock asked, a smile spreading over his face.

John wasn't the least bit surprised that people didn't want to work with Sherlock. What he had seen so far was enough to know how unbearable Sherlock could be. Still, as he joyed with the idea of going with Sherlock he couldn't help but acknowledge that the decision came to him quite easily.

"Sure, why not." John said and hoisted himself out of the armchair with the help of his cane. He got his coat and together they made their way downstairs.

Lestrade was waiting for them. He had hailed a cab and Sherlock got in without further hesitation. John slipped into the cab as well and Lestrade went to close the door before settling on a seat opposite Sherlock and John.

"Greg Lestrade", the man introduced himself, extending his hand for John to take. He smiled and John shook his hand.

"John Watson", came his responds while smiling back at Greg.

"So, how do you know Sherlock?" he asked, looking from John to Sherlock and back gain with a questioning look.

"We are Flatmates." John answered, seeing how the questioning look disappeared from Lestrade's face and was replaced with the same bewilderment John had felt only minutes before.

"How has he managed that? Does he pay you or have you actually spike a different interest in him?" John couldn't help laughing about Greg's face. "No, I think it is just convenient for the both of us."

"He wouldn't ask the convenient bloke to tag along to accompany him to a client. At least he thinks you've got brains or something else which qualifies you in his eyes." John looked up again, meeting Greg's gaze, a reassuring smile playing around the corner of his lips.

John then looked over to where Sherlock was currently staring out the window probably ignoring their conversation.

" How long have you known him?" Greg asked, gesturing with his head towards Sherlock. John couldn't help, but shake his head and while grinning. If he told Greg he had only met Sherlock yesterday- he thought the man would probably declare him as being mental. Still, John didn't think lying would be for the best so he told the truth.

"We met yesterday, actually." John stated, hoping that Greg wouldn't think of him all that bad now. But as John looked at the man he only saw a mix of surprise and irritation displayed on his face.

Next to him Sherlock suddenly gave a sign of life, sighing exasperated and snapping, " Oh, for God's sake, Lestrade. It's convenient as John just rightfully stated." The man opposite them laughed loudly, shaking his head all the while.

"Sure, Sherlock. Please explain to me than why you asked him to come along if it only is convenience." Lestrade smirked, but Sherlock only graced his statement with a dismissive hand wave before going back to staring out of the window.

They rode the rest of the way in silence. Sherlock kept staring out of the and John had drifted off with his thoughts.

Ten minutes later they arrived at a small secluded hotel. A woman with olive skin and dark brown hair greeted Lestrade at the entrance.

"Hey Greg, good you're here. She is furious. Anderson really fucked this one up. I tried to calm her, but she wouldn't hear any of it." She eyed Sherlock, letting her eyes roam over his long figure up until her eyes met his. "What do you want, freak?" She asked, her face showing annoyance with a trace of malignancy.

Sherlock though, instead of getting hug up on her attitude, just displayed a horrifying smile on his face and asked, "How was scrubbing the floor at Anderson's? By the state of your knees you seemed to have rather enjoyed it." The woman's mouth fell open, but she regained control over herself quite quickly.

John couldn't help but smile about Sherlock and his insanity as well as being amazed by Sherlock's constant deductions about everyone around him. It was quite frankly incredible what the man did.

He walked past her coat flapping behind him as he entered the hotel. Lestrade, John and the woman followed.

Once inside Greg directed all of them to a group of chairs. Lestrade and his colleague settle into two chairs. Sherlock stood by, looking annoyed and didn't even seem to consider sitting down. John on the other hand was rather confused by the whole situation not knowing, why or how and even whom he was listening to as the brown haired woman launched a detailed description of their current client.

It was a fair while later when the woman- Sally- had finally finished her speech. John, who had sat down somewhere along the way now stood up as Sherlock vanished in the direction of Jennifer Wilson's room.

Lestrade rose as well while saying, " Thank you, Sally. You can take the rest of the day off and tell Anderson he has to do better next time if he wants to keep his job." Her curls bounced as she rose to her feet as well and she called a "Sure thing" over her shoulder as she left, the glass door swinging shut behind her.

"Now onto the next task. Better keep an eye on Sherlock or Jennifer Wilson will destroy my reputation forever." Lestrade smiled and together the two men made their way down the hallway towards the client's room.

Unfortunately, they weren't as lucky as they had hoped. The hallway was deserted and as they stood in front of the closed door, they could hear a woman shriek, "Who do you think you are?" from within the room.

Greg sighed next to him and pinched the bridge of his nose. _So, not a first for him then._ He raised his hand to knock, but the door was opened just in that moment. Sherlock stood in the door, his face showing bewilderment and his right cheek was bright red. In the shape of a hand.

Greg was trying to stifle his laughter, but couldn't do more than snort with laughter rather than laughing out loud. John himself was coughing violently, amused and feeling guilty at the same time. One simply wasn't supposed to laugh about these things, but Sherlock certainly deserved that after his sulk.

Sherlock's stare was icy when his eyes locked with Lestrade's and the man instantly stifled his laughter, coughed and was silent. He then stared down John, though his eyes weren't as cold anymore as they had been with Greg.

"Calm her", he hissed through gritted teeth and opened the door wide so John and Greg were able to step into the room.

Lestrade shortly padded the man on the shoulder before he engaged in a conversation with the agitated woman currently sitting on the bed.

John kept standing next to Sherlock, seeing the red spot on his pale cheek darken and the print of Jennifer's hand becoming clearer by the minute. There was a small smirk playing around John's lips as he looked at the taller man. Sherlock's expression still showed a bit of surprise, but he was hiding it pretty well. The only thing giving him away was an alien glint in his usually cold and composed eyes.

It took Greg about fifteen minutes before his client was willing to speak to Sherlock once again. During this time Sherlock stayed silent by John's side. He tended to shift from one foot to the other or crook his head then and again, but other than that there was no other movement nor sound other than the soft murmur of Greg's and Mrs. Wilson's conversation.

Mrs. Wilson took a seat in a plush armchair, Sherlock seated himself opposite her, dragging a beaten, wooden chair over from the matching desk. She was playing around with her hands, looking down at them as she kneaded the palm of her left hand.

Greg came over to stand next to John, but on his way his hand found its way on Sherlock's shoulder once again and he mumbled, "Try being nice for once, would you". Sherlock seemed to have ignored the comment for all John could as the man didn't even look at Greg for a split second. Instead, he just stapled his finger under his chin, like he had seen Sherlock do just this morning on the sofa, his elbows resting on his knees, staring intensely at Jennifer Wilson, who still hadn't looked up from her hands.

John studied the woman more closely now. She was of an ordinary beauty. Golden waves cascading around her face, her lips full and rosy. She was dressed in an alarming shade of pink from head to toe. She hadn't kept from fidgeting with her hands, her eyes down cast, keeping to the floor and her lap, never meeting Sherlock's gaze.

The room was silent, but out off the blue Sherlock suddenly snapped, "Shut up!" without anyone having uttered a word.

John and Greg looked at each other before looking back at Sherlock both of them whispering a "What?" under their breaths.

Sherlock then turned around on his chair in a smooth, graceful motion staring them both down. "You were thinking. It's annoying." Sherlock answered their question and both looked more than bewilder, but as John glanced over at Lestrade he saw a frown appear on the man's face. So this was probably another one of Sherlock's habits.

"You opinion, John", Sherlock said not even looking at him. John was a bit startled by his request how in the name of God was he supposed to make any guess about who would suit her. He had no information about her whatsoever. What was he supposed to do? Was Sherlock doing this to embarrass him?

"Uhm, Sherlock, I don't have one. How could I? I know nothing about her." Sherlock then turned around on his chair once again, his arm resting on the back of the chair, his legs crossed elegantly.

"Enlighten us", Greg said, his face set in a hard mask as he addressed Sherlock.

"Well, look at her hands. She is kneading her left hand because she slapped me, but that's not the only reason. She also has a mark on her ring finger when you look closely. So she is married, but isn't wearing her wedding ring. In fact she placed it over there", Sherlock pointed towards the desk, "where none of her lovers would ever go. All her jewellery is polished except for her wedding ring. Still it does shine from the inside which indicates that she frequently removes the ring from her finger for said lovers. She is a serial adulterer currently getting a divorce. Anderson probably paired her with all the wrong men. She fucked them and that's the end of the story. If you want to keep her interested in a man you should not pair her with the sissy's Anderson got her." Sherlock now looked at John again, his grey-blue eyes fixed upon him.

"Now John, tell me what you think." A smirk appeared on Sherlock's face as John didn't say a word at first. He just kept looking at Jennifer Wilson, who was now beat red and tried to figure out what to say. Everything he would say would probably sound dumb in comparison to what Sherlock had just revealed about her.

"Uhmm, well. Maybe he needs to be interesting as you said." John looked at Sherlock in the hope he would stop this stupid game of his, but Sherlock kept just looking back at him a faint smile playing around his lips. John sighed and shook his head, but continued nonetheless. "Maybe someone who is not as experienced or is vastly different from herself. Anyway, I think both of them need to be part of a whole, just like I said before, they need to complete each other. I wouldn't do any good if you put to serial adulterers into a relationship. It wouldn't end well for neither of them."

"Nice observation, but I was hoping you would go a bit deeper, John.", Sherlock said, looking expectant over at John. The army doctor grew steadily angry as Sherlock pushed him farther and farther. "I can't, Sherlock. How am I supposed to do what you do? I can't observe like you do. What you do is amazing why do you think I would try and not fail miserably!" He raised his hands in defeat and looked Sherlock, his blue eyes meeting Sherlock's blue-grey ones.

Without further warning Sherlock got up from his chair, his hands clasped behind his back as he walked over to where John and Greg were standing. "Shall I enlighten you? Again.", he asked, a smirk stretching over his face and Greg nodded.

Sherlock swirled around gracefully once again looking at Jennifer Wilson. "She came here for which reason. Well, of course not because of your good reputation, Greg, no, she came her because of her Job. Her small suitcase is not unpacked and a map of London is lying on her bedside table, circled on it are not the typical sights, but the different location's for her story which is lying next to the map. So she works's for the media, which also explains the alarming shade of pink she wears. The reason for her divorce is her abusive husband. She has a bruise just beneath the collar of her shirt which is a blue-purplish colour. This indicates he used violence against her just before she was leaving, three days ago by the colouring. The reason for his use of violence is that he never like her line of work. She only recently thought about divorcing him as she was gravely afraid of him and what he would do to her, would he find out what she was doing. The only outlet she found was going around having sex with pretty much everyone who was willing. Therefore, we are looking for someone understanding. He needs to accept her the way she is and is not pursuing to change her. Still, he needs to be strong willed as well as well built. She needs someone with whom she feels safe and protected. There are some other quirks which need to be taken into account, but I think this should be enough to start looking for someone at Harmony." Sherlock turned around during his last sentence and looked at John once again. There was that smile again, playing around the corner of his mouth.

John couldn't help but stare back. Sherlock was utterly amazing and no one could tell him otherwise. All his childish behaviour and lack of social skills could be overlooked for this. For this utterly brilliant man, looking at him.


End file.
